


Bruises and Swollen Lips

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 05:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John rolls his eyes, distracted by clumps of snow that have begun to clung to Sherlock's lips and he kisses them away sweetly. He feels Sherlock smile against his mouth and John thinks that everything's going to be alright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruises and Swollen Lips

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: For my marvelous friend Sophie who requested Johnlock + snow.

It's a painful trek back to 221 B Baker Street if their injuries are anything to go by. John is sporting a swelling lump on his hairline and his limp is slowly becoming more pronounce as they make their way down the streets and alleys; scratches cover the length of Sherlock's pale, spidery fingers and a sickening black-eye paints the skin on the left side of his face a motley of red, blue, and green. The people have gotten used to it by now; they no longer gape open-mouthed as the two stride on by, bruised and victorious as one case closes and another begins.  


Sherlock is as impatient as ever to get back to their flat, fidgeting every so often they have to stop to make an awkward detour around patches of slick ice that litter London's sidewalks. John lags a step or two behind, stepping carefully and firmly as he thinks of the various procedures that need to be done to tend to both his and Sherlock's injuries.  


"John, you're uncharacteristically quiet," Sherlock said suddenly, his voice booming in the quiet haze of the evening. He turned his head slightly, his pace never wavering as sidestepped over a mixture of slush. His eyes coolly appraised the ex-army doctor before he awkwardly asked, "Your head...does it hurt a lot?"  


"Of course it hurts," John replied good-naturedly as he strode ahead. "You don't need me to tell you that," He teased, turning around to face Sherlock, a smile plastered on his face. He froze at the expression on Sherlock's face--blue eyes that reflected worry and regret, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips, a look so open (so vulnerable, so easily breakable that took John's breath away) and full of emotions for John's sake and well-being that make John feel sick. No, Sherlock Holmes should never wear such a look on his face; least of all never for John. He should never look at John with such reverence and awe and hold him above others--what would happen if someone decided to manipulate that? Wouldn't that break Sherlock?  


"Oh, Sherlock."  


And in an instant, Sherlock's face is as impassive as before. John felt his heart constrict; he gingerly reached up to touch the detective's swollen cheek, the other gripping his scarred hands gently. "It's not your fault."  


Sherlock snorted. "As I was the one who pushed you down--"  


"If you didn't, I would have been shot by bullets--"  


"Semantics." Sherlock said loftily.  


John huffed.  


Sherlock's lips twitched upwards into a smirk. "John."  


"Hmm?"  


Sherlock kissed him, his sly tongue curling and sliding into John's mouth, teeth biting down on John's full bottom lip. John moaned appreciatively, kissing back harder, rougher.  


Sherlock kisses with his entire being, John thinks. The detective's hands are everywhere at once--curling into John's short hair, in the small of his back, the nape of his neck, impatiently tugging at the front of his parka. Sherlock kisses with all the emotion that he can't afford to show, the flick of his tongue and the little sigh of contentment against John's lips.  


John rests his head against Sherlock's chest, more than a little bewildered at the public display of affection. He blinks slowly, arms encircling Sherlock's waist, feeling the coarse fabric of Sherlock's signature trench cloak and the scratch of his blue scarf is a pleasant warmth against his cool cheek. Sherlock nuzzles himself into John's neck, breathing in deeply, marveling at the fact that John is there, John is safe, John is John. And to Sherlock, that's more than a miracle.  


Snowflakes begin to fall from the sky, adorning Sherlock's curling dark hair prettily, and John nudges against Sherlock's face. "Look, snow."  


"It's just frozen rain," Sherlock murmurs. "Hardly anything extraordinary."  


John rolls his eyes, distracted by clumps of snow that have begun to clung to Sherlock's lips and he kisses them away sweetly. He feels Sherlock smile against his mouth and John thinks that everything's going to be alright.

(And later, he kisses gently at Sherlock's black eye, chiding him softly; Sherlock offers back a sharp retort and begins to play Mahler on his violin. John lies back in his chair to listen, gazing out the window as the snow falls in angry flurries from the sky.)


End file.
